


Welcome Aboard

by ArgentGale



Series: Trash Compactor [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Gen, Other, Thrawn adores his ysalamir, Thrawn is like a crazy cat lady but in space, Ysalamir - Freeform, crazy ysalamir dad, he is ridiculously excited for Ginger's first clutch to hatch, he spoils them rotten, pure fluffy cuteness, watch this Chiss warlord melt over ysalamir hatchlings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:57:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9637901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentGale/pseuds/ArgentGale
Summary: Thrawn is brimming with excitement over the fact that his prized female ysalamir, Ginger, will soon be a mama.





	

Thrawn had left strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed except for the very direst of reasons. 

This was _incredibly_ important business and he did not want _any_ distractions.

This was his precious ysalamir Ginger’s first clutch of eggs.  And they were finally starting to hatch.

The heating lamps cast a soft glow upon the tray of sand, illuminating a clutch of pearly, oval eggs. 

It was almost time.

To Thrawn, the whole process was fascinating.  At first the changes were imperceptible, but as the hours drew on, tiny hairline cracks appeared in the delicate shells.  The eggs rocked gently in their cradle of sand as the tiny lives within stirred and grew restless. 

Ginger trilled softly, encouraging her little ones to escape the confines of their tiny prisons.

Thrawn beamed as he gently traced a finger down Ginger’s furry spine.  “You are such a good girl. Look what you and Admiral Snoots have done.  I am SO very proud of you.”

Admiral Snoots, who was lounging on a chaise, yawned and then flexed his long claws, settling in to observe his master and his mate with the undoubtable air of pride.

There was a soft *click* and a tiny snout appeared from the top of one of the eggs. As if that were the signal others were waiting for, the other eggs wobbled and rocked with renewed vigor and more snouts appeared, wet and glistening as they pushed through the tops of their eggs.

“Well done,” Thrawn whispered.  “That’s it now. Come on.” 

Ginger trilled a bit louder in encouragement as she gently nosed the eggs.

One by one tiny heads emerged.  Tiny eyes blinked adjusting to the bright light.  Peeping softly, the hatchlings slid free, spilling onto the warm sand.

Ginger touched each one with her nose, carefully inspecting each one as they wriggled damp and disoriented in the sand.

“Well done girl, your babies are just as beautiful as their mother.”

It was then that Thrawn noted one egg remained laying silent and still.  It had not even moved or cracked.  It was not viable.  Such was the way of nature but still Thrawn felt a slight tug of sadness and taking his finger gently traced the curve of the shell. “Sorry little one. It wasn’t meant to be.”  Ginger, seemingly sensing her master’s distress, reached out with her snout and nuzzled at his hand to offer comfort, before pushing the egg away from the nest.

“My brave, strong beauty,” Thrawn murmured as he gently picked the ysalamir up, holding her to his chest.  Stroking the soft, fine fur, he marveled, “Stars.  We have many mouths to feed now, don’t we? Eight new little ones.” 

The eight surviving hatchlings were now gaining strength and exploring the pan of sand on wobbly legs.  The warmth from heating lamp was drying out the downy fuzz that covered them from snout to tail and they looked as if they were wearing fluffy tan overcoats.   Thrawn reached out to gently touch one of the little explorers and it chirped in indignation.   Immediately, Admiral Snoots puffed up and hissed protectively. “Easy now, it is just me.” Thrawn admonished.

It had been a long night and Thrawn found he was exhausted.  The heating lamp had made his quarters rather warm and his eyelids were growing heavy.

“Shall we take a little rest?” he soothed to Ginger. “You deserve a rest my little lady.” 

With care, Thrawn gathered up the wriggling, chirping hatchlings and settling down on his couch, transferring them to his lap.  Ginger carefully corralled her charges, making sure none tumbled to the floor. Soon, all were quiet and sleeping in a warm, fuzzy heap.  With a sigh, Thrawn settled back onto the cushions as Ginger settled into the place of honor, the warm and very cozy crook of his arm.  

And that is how Pellaeon found his commander.  One of the greatest warlords the Empire had ever seen, sound asleep on a couch, still in full uniform, snoring softly and covered in ysalamir.  Ginger was curled in a tight ball nestled in the crook of Thrawn’s arm and her young were…everywhere.  One had found a pocket and fell asleep inside, its tiny head peeking out.  Yet other had coiled itself in Thrawn’s blue-black hair.  The rest had staked out various comfy spots on Thrawn’s chest and neck.  Admiral Snoots was draped majestically (and rather protectively) over Thrawn’s boots and raised his head hissing ferociously (ferociously for an ysalamir, anyway) at Pellaeon’s intrusion.

Poor Pellaeon was at a loss.  Did he disturb Thrawn and his snoozing “family?” Or quietly take his leave and let the Grand Admiral continue his rest?

With a soft smile and a shake of his head, Pellaeon opted for the latter.  

 

 

 


End file.
